


when they built you, brother, they broke the mold

by janie_tangerine



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: (but the angst is minimal), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Family Fluff, Family Secrets, Gen, I Blame Tumblr, Jon Snow is a Targaryen, Pre-A Game of Thrones, Pre-Series, R plus L equals J, Robb Stark is a Gift, Sibling Love, The Author Regrets Nothing, Wishful Thinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-28
Updated: 2016-04-28
Packaged: 2018-06-05 01:55:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6684562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/janie_tangerine/pseuds/janie_tangerine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>“All right,” Ned Stark says. “You weren’t supposed to hear that. No one was supposed to, but I guess it’s my own damned fault for not keeping it to myself. Now, I know that if I told you to forget this you’d try, but I remember – I remember how it was when I was your age, myself. Boys of seven can forget that kind of promise easily, if they don’t know why they’re making it.” He takes in another breath. “Robb,” he says, his voice dropping so low it’s barely audible, “</i>do you love your brother<i>?”</i></p>
<p>Or: in which Robb knows about Jon's true heritage all along.</p>
            </blockquote>





	when they built you, brother, they broke the mold

**Author's Note:**

> A while ago, an anon on tumblr innocently asks me 'hey but what do you think would have happened if Robb had known that Jon was actually _not_ Ned's bastard from pre-series'. I... might have decided that fic needed to happen. I thought it would be short. I obviously knew nothing. /o\ Also I know this has highly unlikely outcomes but shh just let me assume things would have turned out as nicely.
> 
> Small addendum: I started this before wondering if I remembered a certain thing right, looked stuff up and eventually realized that according to GRRM Dany being fireproof when the dragons were hatched wasn't normal business for all Targaryens necessarily and that even if they stand heat more than the average person they still can be burned, but I had already 12k of this based on the premise that Targaryens actually don't get burned like an average person. So... please just assume that Jon being AA and therefore *extra special* means that he doesn't get burned like a normal guy and suspend your disbelief thank you very much.
> 
> Other than that: nothing belongs to me except the speculation, the title is from Bruce Springsteen and I don't know how Theon ended up being in a good quarter of this even if this fic is technically about Robb and Jon gdi, but I guess I can't keep him out of anything he can reasonably be in.

Years from now, Robb will wonder what would have happened if he hadn’t ran across his father in the crypts the moment he did. He will ponder that question, long and hard, and he’ll come up with no answer at all.

As it is, though, he’s not pondering any question whatsoever – right now, he’s heading down for the crypts where he’s going to stay until midnight because Theon dared him that he wouldn’t have the guts to do it. As if Robb would be afraid to – even if they really were haunted, it’d be _his own relatives_ , what a big deal. Also, it’s not as if he’s planning to go in the lowest level – he’ll just stick by his aunt’s grave and then –

He stops just in time to notice that he’s not alone.

And it’s no ghost – it’s his father. What is he even doing in the crypts at this hour?

Well, all right, it is kind of unfair that Robb should wonder this since _he_ certainly wasn’t supposed to be in the crypts and his father is the lord of the castle so he can go wherever he likes whenever he pleases.

He stands still, figuring that if he just sticks to the wall and doesn’t move Father won’t notice him.

Except that then he hears what his father is saying – he’s talking to his sister’s grave, from the looks of it.

“I miss you,” Ned Stark says. “And sometimes I look at him and I wonder how things would be if you had lived. Well, you both probably _couldn’t_ be here, but still, he should have known you. You’d be proud of him, I think. He’s such a nice boy – everything you might have wanted. Wherever you are, well, I just hope you think I’m not doing too poorly. Holding up to that promise, I mean. Gods, Lyanna, you didn’t deserve –”

Robb forgets that he was supposed to stand still. He moves just a tiny bit, but it’s enough to step on some old dried leaf that found its way inside and the creak is entirely too audible in the silence of the crypts.

His father stops dead in his tracks and his hand goes to the sword.

“ _Who is there_ ,” he asks, sounding panicked, and – right. Whatever this is, it’s serious, and Robb should just go ahead instead of running or something equally stupid. He’ll suffer the consequence.

“It’s – it’s me,” Robb replies, moving into the light of the only torch in the hallway. “I, uh, I couldn’t sleep,” he lies, hopefully not too badly. The last thing he wants is for Theon to get in trouble for this, too.

“Gods, _Robb_ , you gave me the scare to end all bloody – you couldn’t sleep? And _you go taking a stroll in the crypts at this hour_?”

Robb shrugs, sheepishly. “It – why not?” He says.

His father looks at him with the face of someone who knows Robb’s not telling the whole truth, mostly because he’s doing the exact same thing, but he lets it slide. Then he sighs, long and deep.

“Right. How much did you hear?”

Robb figures there’s no point in lying about this, not when it seemed this serious.

“Uh. You told her you were proud of someone and you missed her and you hoped she thought you were honoring a promise? Aunt Lyanna, I mean?”

“Seven hells,” his father swears softly. “Seven hells, that was too much already.” He looks down at Robb, then kneels down so that they’re staring at each other, moving so close that no one could hear them lest they really were at the same distance.

“All right,” Ned Stark says. “You weren’t supposed to hear that. No one was supposed to, but I guess it’s my own damned fault for not keeping it to myself. Now, I know that if I told you to forget this you’d try, but I remember – I remember how it was when I was your age, myself. Boys of seven can forget that kind of promise easily, if they don’t know why they’re making it.” He takes in another breath. “Robb,” he says, his voice dropping so low it’s barely audible, “ _do you love your brother_?”

For a moment, Robb feels completely confused. “Jon? Of course I –”

“ _Quieter_.”

“Of course I do,” Robb says, his voice dropping to almost a hush, and meaning it entirely. What kind of dumb question is that? He thought it was obvious. His lady mother certainly doesn’t seem to approve of it.

“Very well. I’m going to tell you, then.”

“Is it about Jon?”

“Partially,” Ned says. “Again. Robb. I’m going to tell you something. I’m not going to ask you if you can keep it a secret, because it’s not something – the point isn’t that you _can_. The point is that you _have_ to. You cannot tell a living soul. Not your mother, not Luwin, not Jory, not Theon, not your uncle, especially not Jon. Understood?”

“Is – is it something bad?”

“Not exactly. But it could be. If _anyone else but us_ knows. All right?”

“All right,” Robb agrees. “I swear I won’t tell anyone. But what –”

“Did Maester Luwin teach you anything about Robert’s rebellion?” Ned interrupts him.

Robb swallows and recites what they learned a while ago – it wasn’t much, not really. But he does know the basics.

Ned gives him a single nod when Robb’s done. “Right. Well, it’s not the whole truth. When I went up that tower, your aunt was dying, true, but – it was of childbirth complications.”

For a moment Robb doesn’t understand, but then it dawns on him, and –

“Childbirth –”

“Your brother,” Ned says, his lips just above Robb’s ear, “isn’t my son. He’s _hers_.”

_And Rhaegar Targaryen’s_ , he doesn’t say, but Robb doesn’t need to hear it to come to that conclusion.

“And if word gets out of this castle, or of Winterfell – I love Robert, I do, but he doesn’t want any descendant of Rhaegar’s alive more than he wants… almost anything else, and I cannot risk that. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” Robb breathes out, feeling like his knees are going to give out.

“Good. Robb, you can’t tell anyone. You know that, right?”

“I swear I won’t,” Robb replies as sincerely as he can while he tries to not fall down to the ground in an undignified heap.

“Right. I’m holding you to that,” Ned says, before ruffling his hair and slowly walking out of the crypt.

Good, because Robb needs a moment or a hundred. He sits down against the wall, breathing out, in, out, and taking it in – gods, _Jon_ a – a _Targaryen_? He couldn’t have imagined that for the life of him – all the Targaryens in their books have silver hair and violet eyes and a fairly mad look to them and they’re surrounded by dragons and they look larger than life. Nothing like Jon’s dark hair and grey eyes and small frame and pale cheeks, and certainly Jon isn’t really – that kind of person. He’s just so quiet most of the time, and Robb’s head spins at the idea that _he_ ’s kind of what would pass for the closest thing to a heir to the Targaryen dynasty in Westeros, not when he’s climbed into his bed countless times and Robb’s told him countless times that his mother doesn’t really mean it when she sends sharp looks his way. Or that it doesn’t matter when people look at him and whisper that it’s really a pity Lord Stark has just _one stain_ on his honor.

Good gods. If only they knew who they were talking about.

Except that he can’t exactly tell people off with ‘why would you say something like that to someone who could be the heir to the seven kingdoms’, can he?

He can’t. Because no one can know.

Robb sits in the crypts for a long, long time. When he finally comes out Theon is outside, asking him if he fell asleep inside or something, and Robb doesn’t have to fake the laugh coming out of his throat.

“Serves you well for daring me in the first place, it’s your own fault you’re freezing,” Robb tells him, and Theon grunts something about fair being fair before he disappears into his room. At least he’s not sulking about having lost the bet. Robb sighs and gets ready for bed, thankfully no one noticed them, and he’s about to get under his furs when there’s a knock on the door.

“Theon, if it’s you I’m _done_ for –”

“It’s me,” a voice that it’s definitely not Theon’s answers.

A moment later the door opens slowly and Robb can see – well, a lot of unruly black hair. Not exactly Jon’s face, since he’s not looking at him.

“Jon?” Robb asks. “What’s the matter?”

(He _knows_ what’s the matter, or at least he suspects, but still.)

“I can’t sleep,” Jon says, barely audible, which – Robb knows that it means he’s woken up because of some kind of distressing dream he always used to have when they roomed together (that was before his mother made it understood that she’d have rather have them sleep in separate rooms) and he can’t go back to sleep and starts feeling even more miserable.

When it happened to _him_ , Robb used to go find his mother.

“Get over here,” he says raising up the covers, and when Jon curls up against him he can’t help wondering if he’s always felt _this_ warm.

It’s his imagination, Robb decides as Jon’s head moves against his shoulder. It’s warm in the castle, there’s a fire burning in every room where everyone sleeps, Jon’s room is two doors down the hallway, he’s warm because _it’s not cold_ , not because he’s half Targaryen.

Something goes loose inside him when he realizes that Jon’s fallen back asleep in a matter of minutes, if not less, and he thinks about Robert Baratheon or whoever else finding out, and – he can’t honestly imagine how could anyone ever look at his brother (it doesn’t matter what he’s just found out, it doesn’t _change_ anything, it doesn’t) and think that he doesn’t deserve to live, but evidently enough people do.

_I won’t tell a soul_ , Robb swears to himself and maybe also to Jon, even if he can’t know, and tries to sleep as well.

\--

Thing is: not telling is hard. He has to bite down on his tongue whenever his mother suggests that it’s really not proper that they spend so much time together, even if the more it goes on the less hard she tries. He has to bite down on it harder whenever he hears people talking about Jon as if he’s his father’s mistake or _something_ equally not flattering, and he can see whenever someone reminded Jon of his surname even if he hasn’t heard them because he’ll sulk moreso than usual and he’ll be harder to beat at swordfight practice that day. When that happens he itches to just let it slip.

But he can’t.

He knows why he can’t, but it doesn’t make it any easier.

He thinks about how his father has kept it a secret this long, and at times he wants to ask him _how could you, it’s so hard and I’ve been doing it for months, how could you for almost eight years_?, but then he doesn’t, because – whenever he tries to, it seems as if his father reads his mind and shakes his head every time.

Robb hadn’t understood that not telling anyone also meant that _they couldn’t talk about it themselves_.

But if his lord father could hold out this long, then Robb certainly can as well. If he doesn’t think about it all the time, if he tries to forget, then – well, Jon’s still _Jon_. It’s not like he changed one bit. So Robb keeps his mouth shut. If when, at times, he sees Jon looking so sad over his status that it makes Robb’s stomach clench, he feels the urge to go to him and tell him _don’t do that you’re a lot more than what you think you are_ , he puts a heavy lid on it and lets him win at sword practicing – after all, they’re pretty much evenly matched so if he puts a little less effort in it, it doesn’t look like he’s letting Jon win or anything.

\--

He doesn’t try to talk about it to his father until the accident in the kitchens.

Robb is forever going to be thankful that _he_ was the only one present for it, because otherwise – _otherwise_.

He and Jon had snuck into the kitchens at nighttime to grab the flour that they were planning to use for that prank they’d pull on Arya in the crypts tomorrow. The idea was Jon getting covered in it, but that obviously meant securing some flour and they certainly couldn’t go asking for it straight. And now they just found out that it’s on a shelf too tall for any of them to reach.

“I’ll just climb on a chair and get it,” Jon says, and Robb nods before grabbing one and bringing it over. Jon climbs, reaches for the shelf, grabs a small sack of flour that no one will miss and hands it down to Robb. Robb takes it, securing it inside his cloak, and then Jon starts to come down –

And he puts a foot wrong or _something_ , but the chair topples to the side and he falls to the ground – and his left hand crashes directly inside the fireplace next to the shelf.

It wasn’t lit, at least, but the fire had gone out not long ago and the embers are still a deep red – Robb almost screams, but –

But Jon _doesn’t_.

Robb decides that he’ll think about it later as he grabs Jon by the shoulders and hauls him out, turning the hand towards himself so he can assess the damage.

Except that it’s just – barely red. There is _no damage whatsoever_.

Robb is standing near enough the fireplace to know that if _he_ had touched the embers he’d have screamed and his skin would be blistering already.

“Did – did that hurt? Are you all right?” He asks.

“I’m fine,” Jon says, sounding fine for that matter. “I barely felt it. Why? I mean, there really wasn’t a fire going on, should it have been worse?”

Robb swallows. “Oh, well, for a moment it didn’t look so good from where I was but I guess you’re right and it was nothing. Good thing you didn’t break anything. So, are we going to plan this or not?”

Jon smiles as he grabs Robb’s hand with his slightly warm one, though otherwise unaffected.

Robb swallows again, smiles back hoping against hope that it’s convincing and he doesn’t need to try so hard to remember what was in that book about the Targaryens Maester Luwin had him read last month.

Mostly, a lot of ink was spent about how fire cannot kill dragons nor _them_ , and he thinks about Jon’s palm pretty much falling inside the embers and about how there’s not a single scratch on it.

Thankfully Jon seems to forget about it ten minutes later and Robb does absolutely nothing to remind him of the fact, but the next week he _does_ clear his throat when sitting down next to his father while breaking their fast.

Thing is, before Robb can open his mouth and say that they need to talk about _that_ problem, Ned just looks down at him and shakes his head.

Well, then, Robb figures that he’s not going to talk about it at any time soon.

But then he thinks, _what if it happens again when someone else is around to see it, what if they notice, what if, what if_ , and when Theon asks him if he’s feeling sick or something this morning, he hasn’t looked this grumpy in ages, Robb pretends that he’s had trouble sleeping that night and leaves it at that.

_What if someone else is around to see it_.

Good question.

\--

No one is around to see such a thing happening for a long while.

Which is perfectly fine with Robb, and so he keeps his secret, bites down on his tongue until it almost bleeds whenever he’s tempted to just grab Jon by the shoulders and tell him for the umpteenth time that his name doesn’t define him but even if it did, then it wouldn’t certainly be _Snow_ the one defining him, and the months pass same as they did before.

When Jon gets a _white_ direwolf ( _didn’t Targaryens have silver/white hair_ , Robb thinks as Jon names him Ghost, and he doesn’t say it out loud), he takes it in stride. He keeps on just – do what he’s done up until this point. He certainly can handle it. His father did longer than Robb has, right?

This, until Jon tells him he’s seriously thinking about going to the Wall.

And that he might as well go with Uncle Benjen when he comes to Winterfell in a few days.

After all, if their lord father is likely to leave for King’s Landing with Robert Baratheon where does that leave him?

Robb asks him if he’d talked about it with their father. Jon answers that he said the Wall was an honorable choice. Grey Wind growls at Robb’s side while Ghost stays silent next to Jon and Robb has a feeling that both their direwolves don’t like this arrangement, but he can’t exactly point that out, can he.

That evening, Robb goes to his father and tells him to _please_ meet him in the crypts later and Ned gives him a weary nod.

Well, Robb hadn’t expected it to be so easy, but he’ll take what he can get.

That evening, a few days before the royal court is supposed to arrive in Winterfell, he goes to wait in front of his aunt’s grave. His father doesn’t let him wait for long.

“Robb, talking about it once was already enough of a risk,” he says, coming closer and making sure no one else is around to hear them. “We cannot –”

“He _can’t_ go to the Wall,” Robb cuts him.

“What – Robb, it’s for the best. If he hadn’t suggested it I wouldn’t have either, but –”

“It’s not _right_ ,” Robb presses. “I mean, if he chose to go knowing everything then fine, he should go, but if he doesn’t – if he doesn’t and then he learns of it he could never go back on that choice.”

“That’s true,” Ned agrees, “but you _do_ know that once you’ve taken the black, nothing can touch you, don’t you?”

Robb does, of course, but that’s not the point. “All right, so what, he should go there and take the black so that the king can’t possibly kill him if he finds out, but then however it goes he has to spend his life at the Wall regardless of – of whether he’d have taken that same decision if he _knew_? It’s not fair.”

Ned sighs wearily. “Robb, I know it’s not, but it’s – the safest option. If he’s there, then he’s not in danger anymore. And if he stayed here…” He shakes his head. “Your mother wouldn’t like that, and I couldn’t ask it of her when she would have to be alone here. Regardless of what I had hoped for him.”

_You could tell her_ , Robb doesn’t say. _You love each other, you’ve been together for this long, surely she wouldn’t tell, surely? And what it is that you had hoped?_ But he sees his father shaking his head, he remembers all the times Jon was at the receiving end of one of her cold stares that was never reserved for him or his siblings, and he doesn’t speak.

“It’s still not fair,” Robb tries again, feebly.

“I know,” Ned says, sounding so weary it’s a miracle he doesn’t get crushed under the imaginary weight he seems to be carrying. “But it’s still the safest thing to do.”

And then he turns his back on Robb and leaves, and –

Gods, Robb wants to believe that, he does, but he thinks of Jon pretty much swearing himself into a life meant for criminals and murderers, up in the ice all the time, never having a chance to show the people who have looked down on him up until now that he really was more than it looked like. And sure, on the Wall your name doesn’t matter and he could make it high, Robb knows he could, because if Jon’s one thing he’s certainly not an underachiever, but still –

He deserves better than the Night’s Watch. Especially when considering his true heritage he should have deserved better than the opportunities a name like Snow gives you.

Robb punches the wall, sleeps with his face buried in his direwolf’s fur so that no one can hear him crying if that happens, and lies in the morning about why his knuckles are red all over.

\--

No one knows if Bran might wake up at any point soon or not after he fell from that window, and Robb goes straight for Jon’s room.

He finds him packing, of course. Ghost is standing next to the bed, staring up at Jon as if he doesn’t appreciate that. _Me too_ , Robb thinks, _me too_.

“Leaving already?” Robb asks.

“Well, Father is about to. And I probably – really should. The sooner the better, if I have to do this.”

“But you _want_ to, right?”

“Of course I do,” Jon replies, and he’d sound convincing to anyone, but Robb isn’t so sure about that. Not when he knows that Grey Wind can sense his feelings, and if the same is valid for Ghost, then like hell Jon is absolutely sure of it.

“Did Father say anything else to you about it?” Robb asks.

“Well, he said that he was proud of my decision. And that he’d tell me about my mother when we saw each other again. Why?”

Thing is, Robb _can’t_ blame his father, not really, he can see why he’d do this, but –

Seven hells, it’s just not right, and if his mother has his head for this, he’ll deal with it later.

“Listen,” he says, “can you – delay a bit?”

“ _What_?”

Robb swallows and he doesn’t have to pretend he’s scared shitless of what expects him the moment his father leaves Winterfell – at least on that, he’s not omitting any information.

“Listen, you’ve seen how Mother’s been since Bran fell. Father’s leaving and it’s all on me and things are going to be different and – I’d really – I mean, every familiar face just leaving at once? I just – I’d really appreciate it if you could stay a few months more just while I get things settled and so on. I mean, it’s not like the Wall is going to disappear, right?”

“Wait, and – why would you – I mean, I get it, but you don’t really need me here to get things settled.”

Gods, Robb is this close to just telling him, but no. No, he can’t. “Maybe, but – Jon, whatever other people think or whatever our surnames say, you’re my brother and I want you here because I’ve always wanted you here and – almost everyone else is leaving and it’d just – be best if you could stay. Just a few months. Please?”

He doesn’t know what it is that breaks Jon’s resolve – was that his fairly shameless begging, or was it that he never really _wanted_ to leave Winterfell deep down?

“All right,” Jon says, smiling a tiny bit. “All right, I will, but –”

“I’m going to deal with my mother if she doesn’t approve, don’t worry. Thank you,” he says, meaning it completely, and patience if Jon doesn’t know all the reasons why when Robb tugs him forward and grabs him in a hug he holds on a lot more strongly than it was warranted. Ghost rubs up against Robb’s leg and Robb can hear him growling softly in what sounds almost like – approval?

Well, good thing it’s not just him.

But for now Jon’s not going anywhere and patience if it’s not what any of his parents would have wanted – he’ll deal with that.

\--

Admittedly, he’s not looking forward to arguing with his mother about it – he knows she won’t be happy – but then she’s off to King’s Landing to warn their father about the man trying to kill Bran and there’s no time to have, well, any argument about that.

And to be entirely truthful, the moment Robb finds himself without her or his father or half of the familiar faces he grew up with, he’s selfishly glad he asked Jon to stay, because it somehow makes him feel less completely thrown off his balance. Not that either Jon or Theon do anything that they didn’t before, and he still has way too much responsibility thrown over his shoulders at once even if he resolves to try his best, but it’s just comforting somehow.

\--

He does handle things, eventually. Well, he does try anyway, and he doesn’t do badly up until a certain point.

He handles them through his brother waking up and finding himself without the use of his legs anymore, he handles them through receiving the corpse of his sister’s direwolf ( _why_ , he asks himself, and the explanation provided in the enclosed raven doesn’t make him feel any better about it). He handles them through his youngest brother obviously missing their mother more than Robb does, and he _does_ miss her a lot right now. He handles them through capturing the wildlings trying to get into Winterfell, even if he harbors biting guilt for having lost it at Theon and he ends up apologizing that same evening (and he has to thank Jon for having told him to just stop wallowing in it and do it already, he doesn’t _like_ Greyjoy much but Robb really wasn’t in the right when he scolded him like that).

Overall, though, he could have done worse.

That is, he handles things.

Until he receives a raven from King’s Landing saying that his father was arrested for high treason and another written by his sister pretty much confirming that story and – telling him to go to King’s Landing. To _pledge fealty_ to Joffrey Baratheon.

His first thought is that it’s impossible that his father could have committed such crimes, and he’d really like to know why is Sansa assuring him that he did.

His second thought, as his blood runs cold, is that he cannot do that. Whatever this is –

“It smells like a trap,” Theon says bluntly as he reads the letter. “I don’t know what is your sister thinking or what they told her, but there’s no way this doesn’t end badly if you go to King’s Landing.”

“I’m not,” Robb protests. “Or better. I’m not going there to pledge fealty out of all things.”

“Are you calling the banners?” Jon asks, sounding concerned and rightfully so. Robb is feeling plenty concerned himself.

“I _have_ to call the banners,” Robb says. “What do I do, their bidding? Never mind that I remember what happened the last time someone named Stark went to King’s Landing because of similar happenstances.”

Maester Luwin nods empathically and both Jon and Theon look frankly disturbed at the thought, and Robb tries not to think about the fact that Aerys Targaryen – who did burn alive his grandfather and uncle, after all – is technically Jon’s blood. Who cares. He’s known Jon long enough that he could swear his life on the fact that there’s not an ounce of _that_ in him, good thing that.

“I could stay here,” Jon offers. “I mean, I know your lady mother wouldn’t approve, but if you don’t want Bran to be left here on his own and the likes of it, I wouldn’t mind.”

For a moment Robb is about to tell him that it would be an excellent idea, and he’d feel a lot less worried knowing someone is staying with his brothers, but then –

_I’m going to war_ , he thinks. _Or I might be, and I don’t like this, and if Father should die – if Father should die and something happens to me, who would know? Who would_ tell _him? And most of all – people aren’t objecting to any of my decisions because I’m in charge, but what if I’m not there to see them following them_?

“Maybe later,” he concedes.

“… later?”

“I – I think it would be best if you came with for the moment. If the situation doesn’t turn sour then you can just come back and watch over them, but if it does turn sour I might need you there.”

Jon doesn’t look too convinced but he does eventually agree.

“Good. Let’s start working on our own ravens then,” Robb says. “Will you go get me some paper, please? I need to think them through.”

“Of course,” Jon says, leaving the room.

Theon stares at Robb, not very subtly – the moment Maester Luwin leaves, he moves slightly closer. “Robb, not to pry, but are you hiding something?”

Damn Theon and the fact that he can be observant when he puts his mind to it.

“Uh, no?”

“Well, there’s something eating you and one can see it from miles away if they bother looking, but fine, if you say so.”

Robb glares halfheartedly at him and resolves to try and hide it somewhat better.

\--

He calls the banners. He heads for King’s Landing. He meets up again with his mother, who doesn’t still look too approvingly at Jon sitting in his war council but doesn’t openly object. He meets with his great-uncle as well, they plan, they have everything more or less decided bar the Frey problem. He’s ready to send his lady mother to treat with Lord Walder after a week of wasting time outside the Twins, and he’s honestly glad she volunteered because she knows the situation better and he has already too many things to deal with on his plate.

For a short while, it seems like they can make it through, go to King’s Landing, get his father back –

And the day before his mother is set to see Lord Walder, they shoot down a raven coming from King’s Landing to the Twins. Theon reaches the bird he has just shot down and reads it before Robb does as he comes closer, and his face goes pale at once.

He hands Robb the raven.

It says that Ned Stark is no more and was executed on the king’s orders.

Robb thinks that if he could have the ground open and swallow him whole, he would take that deal in an instant.

\--

He has to call the war council immediately – he doesn’t want to do it beneath Walder Frey’s windows pretty much, but he can’t exactly postpone it. He shows the raven to everyone who hasn’t seen it already. He doesn’t ask them what they think they should do, because he’s not sure it would do well to show that he’s indecisive right in this moment, if he wants them to keep on taking him seriously. He can see his direwolf and Jon’s standing next to each other a bit in the distance and he takes some sort of comfort in it. Not that it’s much, but he hasn’t even had a moment for himself to just grieve his father in peace and he can’t even think of that now.

He breathes in.

“My lords,” he says, “this obviously changes things. We’re not going there to negotiate anymore.”

Everyone agrees at once. Good thing that. Robb clears his throat. “Of course, our plans also need to change accordingly. Now, I am sure that what my father was accused of is a blatant lie, and I don’t need proof to be sure of that. However, if what they say he claimed is true, then Joffrey Baratheon should not be king.”

More agreement. Robb swallows. His eventual target is trying to get them to agree to an alliance with Stannis Baratheon – from what he gathers, that’s who his father had been trying to contact back before he was arrested, and he _is_ the rightful heir to the throne if Joffrey is not, and it sounds like a more reasonable option than just attacking King’s Landing on their own. If only they agreed, also because Robb has handled things for now but sharing that load with someone more experienced than he is would make it fairly easier –

And that’s when the Greatjon stands, starts boasting about not needing to bend the knee to southerners and now that they’ve been shamed like this, well, after all the kings in the North bent the knee to a _Targaryen_ , didn’t they?

Before Robb can say a thing, the Greatjon goes on.

The kings in the North were _Starks_ , weren’t they? And he’s Ned Stark’s heir, isn’t he?

Robb suddenly understands what he’s about to do.

Good gods, if he lets the Greatjon go on, he’s going to bloody proclaim him king in the North right here and right now, and people will follow him because of course it sounds like a better prospect that bending the knee to southerners or to a Baratheon, and Robb is not – Robb wasn’t really brought up to handle that, and if they proclaim him king he can hardly refuse, and if he doesn’t refuse –

If he doesn’t refuse he’s stuck in that position, of course, but –

_But who’s going to tell them that in theory someone with a better claim than Joffrey Baratheon, should they want to bend the knee to a Targaryen, is sitting in their midst and looking like he’ll cheer for him loudly enough if Robb’s, in fact, proclaimed king_?

“My lords,” he interrupts the Greatjon before he can say the godforsaken words, “I – I think I understand, and I shall be glad to – to consider it, but – could we please adjourn this council until tomorrow?”

“– _until tomorrow_?” Well, the Greatjon hadn’t imagined Robb interrupting him now, did he.

“I – I just need – I barely even just heard the news. I would like a moment to – to grieve my father. On my own. If I may.”

“Umber,” Maege Mormont boasts, “he has the right of it. After all, until Lord Walder over there doesn’t let us go through, we have all the time in the world.”

Robb takes the occasion for what it is, murmurs more apologies and then he flees the council without looking over his back.

He heads straight for his tent, hoping that no one will follow him except for Grey Wind (who’s at his side in a moment), and the moment he’s inside he sits down on the first chair he sees and starts taking deep breaths, looking down at his hands – gods, they’re shaking so badly it’s a miracle he managed to keep them still in front of everyone else before. He buries them in Grey Wind’s fur just so that he doesn’t have to keep staring at them.

Damn. Damn, _damn_ , how does he deal with this? He can’t. He can’t be a king – or better, he could, but he has no clue of how to go about it, and it would mean making even more enemies, and suddenly he’s longing for Winterfell so badly it makes his stomach turn upside down all over again. But they all seemed set on asking him, and he couldn’t refuse, could he, but – but Jon is the one they should be asking, Jon is _the only one with an actual claim to an actual blasted throne_ , but then again he can’t just tell him now and ask him to step up to it when Jon’s even less trained for this than Robb himself is even if he’s sure he would do fine,

( _Jon had the exact same education he received, he was even better at remembering historical politics than Robb ever was, he’s a skilled warrior same as Robb, he’s smart and capable and he’d have made a perfectly fine lord had the circumstances been different, so who says he wouldn’t do well?_ )

and now he’s taking irregular breaths all over and his eyes are burning and good gods he never asked for this –

“Robb?” His mother asks from outside the tent.

“Not now,” he answers, and gods, what does he do now, does he tell, does he not, because now that his father’s dead he and Howland Reed are the only ones who _know_.

“Robb –” Jon starts a moment later.

“I said _not now_ ,” he cuts him, gods he can’t let Jon ask him now because who knows if he could keep his mouth shut. Anyway, point was, Howland Reed is not here and won’t be anytime soon even if he sent his support, so the entirety of that decision is on his shoulders and he suddenly wonders if this is how his father had felt for the entirety of the time he kept that secret before he told Robb, and –

“Robb, _what in the seven hells_?”

His head snaps upwards and he meets Theon’s eyes, and –

Has he ever seen Theon looking that concerned in his life? Probably not. Also why is he here – right. He probably was the only one outside who wouldn’t care that he said he didn’t want anyone to come in.

“Nothing,” Robb replies without much conviction. Theon sighs and kneels down in front of the chair, putting a hand on Robb’s shoulder.

“Robb Stark, something is wrong with you, and it’s been obvious for _months_. Your mother is outside fretting all over, Snow is wondering if you’re going to faint anytime soon and he’s as worried as she is and for the first time in their lives they’re agreeing about _something_ , which is fairly scary in itself, and you just _fled your own war council_. Never mind that creepy wolf of Snow’s who’s growling at everyone passing by. For – they agreed to send _me_ in because they figured that you might talk to me if not them, which is about the thing that’s most unsettling here, after your behavior. I understand the circumstances, really, but this has been going on for a hell of a long time, so how about you just _tell someone_? It doesn’t have to be me, if you don’t want to, but –”

Robb doesn’t even try to stop the first couple stray tears falling from his eyes, and the thing is – there’s also the part where he hates that Theon might think that he wouldn’t want to tell _him_ because no one else trusts him around this camp, or at least not as much as Robb does, and –

Robb is dead tired, he has kept that secret for half of his life, his father is dead, his bannermen want to make him king and he can’t do this anymore.

His father would probably be horrified if he could see him right now, Robb thinks inconsequentially, especially because out of everyone he could be telling he’s telling _Theon_ , but he can’t just – bring himself to care anymore.

“It’s about Jon,” he sobs, his voice falling down to a whisper.

“What? About Snow? What –”

“Theon, gods, I’m going to tell you but please keep that down, all right? No one – no one should know, and – that’s actually why – just keep it down. Please.”

“Fine,” Theon whispers, his other hand going to Robb’s other shoulder. “Now how about you say it?”

“Do you remember that time you dared me to stay in the crypts until midnight?”

“… What, that long ago? What does this have to do with –”

“My father was there that night,” Robb blurts out, still unable to stop crying. “And he was talking to aunt Lyanna’s grave and he was saying _things_ to it and I heard him and he noticed that I was there, and – he ended up telling me what it was about.”

“All right, I don’t see what that has to do with –”

“He’s _her_ son, not my father’s,” Robb blurts out, so low that it’s a miracle Theon hears it, but Robb can see his eyes go wide through his blurry vision.

“Wait,” Theon says slowly. “If he’s your _aunt_ ’s son then his father –”

“ _Yes_ ,” Robb interrupts.

“But then he is – oh, _fuck_ ,” Theon whispers, summing up the entirety of Robb’s feelings in one neat word.

“Do you _understand_ why I couldn’t let them do it?” Robb says, his voice breaking for good on the last two words.

“And you kept your mouth shut about that all along?”

“What was I supposed to do, risk someone finding out and telling the king? I know why my father kept it a secret, I know, but I couldn’t – I couldn’t let him go to the Wall without him knowing, and I can’t accept to be a king when he’s – when he should – but I can’t even ask him now, can I, that’d be unfair, wouldn’t it, and –”

“Robb, gods, just stop talking,” Theon sighs before dragging him forward.

Robb isn’t ever going to share with anyone that he spent a fair amount of time crying his eyes out against Theon’s shoulder, but – but he needed that, he’ll reason afterwards. He _really_ needed that, and he couldn’t honestly take that load on his own anymore. He – he just couldn’t.

He also knows that he can’t let himself do it for too long, but he doesn’t move away until he’s sure that he won’t get started again on that, and his hands are gripping at Theon’s back still as he moves away enough that they can look at each other.

“Thank you,” Robb whispers, his throat hurting in ways he hadn’t even thought it could hurt.

“You’re welcome, but you really should tell at least Snow,” Theon sighs as he looks back down at him – he’s still holding on to Robb’s shoulders.

“ _What_?”

“Robb, for – I think you’ve done admirably enough for now, and lesser people would have given that information up a lot sooner, but you brought him here because you thought that if you died fighting whatever war it is we’re fighting no one would let him know. You don’t feel like you should let people crown you because he should rightfully be in that place, and you still aren’t telling _him_?”

… That does make perfect sense, Robb has to admit to himself, but it must be obvious on his face that he’s not entirely convinced since Theon is staring at him in a fairly frustrated way.

“Because according to Father –”

“Robb, can I tell you something else? In all sincerity?”

“Of course you can.”

“All right then. You’re _not_ your lord father. You already have taken decisions he wouldn’t have, first of all not letting our potential little dragon fuck off to the Wall, even if I guess he wouldn’t have died of cold if –”

“ _Theon_.”

“Right. _Anyway_ , your lord father also meant well all his life, and I’m sure he also did in this case, but it doesn’t mean he had to be right. You don’t have to just keep him in the dark because _he_ thought it was the best course of action. I mean, he also didn’t think that you and I being friends was a good course of action, did he?”

And – that stings a bit, because it’s true, and Robb never really cared for what either of his parents thought about it even if he knew they disapproved. Theon _is_ sounding somehow reproachful, not that Robb begrudges him that, but –

Good gods, maybe he really did need to talk about it to someone who wasn’t related to the both of them, because now that Theon said it… it makes perfect sense. He doesn’t know why he had been so bent on following just that tidbit of his father’s advice when he about didn’t follow any other of it – maybe he just couldn’t bring himself to go against it when Ned Stark had been so adamant on keeping it hidden and it felt like he’d be disrespecting his wishes for good, but –

“Tell them to get in,” Robb sighs.

“Are you –”

“ _Yes_. You’re right. I’m telling the both of them. It makes no sense to keep it hidden from my mother at this point.”

Theon smirks in a way that says _see, I was right all along_ , and Robb doesn’t even begrudge him that while he takes his seat again.

When Jon and his mother walk inside the tent, Ghost alongside Jon, both of them look alarmed the moment they set eyes on him.

“Theon, what did you –” His mother starts, and Robb can see the moment in which Theon’s eyes flicker with something that could be only raw hurt before he interrupts her.

“He didn’t do anything except giving me some good counsel,” Robb sighs. “Really. He just helped. And – please take a seat, the both of you.”

They do, and they also both seem fairly worried all over again. Well, of course they would be. Grey Wind moves next to Ghost and they curl up next to each other – yeah, if only Robb could follow their example now.

“Very well,” he sighs. “Theon, can you please send away any guard outside here and tell them to not come back until I say so? Thanks.”

“Robb, what’s going on?” his mother asks, sounding even more concerned now.

“It’s better no one else hears of this, even if – well, you will understand. All right. Please do bear with me a moment, the both of you. Jon, I imagine Father never told you anything about your mother other than – than what he said when he left.”

“No,” Jon admits. “But why’s my mother the matter?”

“It’s all of the matter. Mother, I imagine that he never told you, either.”

“No,” she agrees. “I asked once, though.”

“What happened?”

“It was – the only time he was ever angry at me,” she confesses. “But Robb, I don’t understand, what might Ashara Dayne –”

“She wasn’t Ashara Dayne,” Robb sighs wearily.

“Wait,” Jon suddenly says, “ _you know_?”

“I do. And Father made me swear on the life of everyone I cared about that I would never tell a soul, and I haven’t until now, but with the current situation – I think you deserve to know, and I honestly cannot accept this entire bloody camp _crowning_ me without the matter having been brought out to the light. At least with you.”

He was staring down at his hands before, but now he looks up – Jon is just confused, but he can see the moment his mother figures it out. Her eyes go wide, her mouth falls open.

“Robb. Robb, you aren’t saying what I _think_ you’re saying.”

“Mother, I’m afraid I am.”

“Robb, what is this even –”

Robb stands up, moves in front of Jon’s seat dragging his own, sits back down and grabs Jon’s hands between his own – gods, he has such pale skin and longer fingers than his own, even if they’re equally rough.

“Jon, what this is – right, just, I’m going to say it now but I want you to know it doesn’t change a thing about what we are to each other, all right?”

“What?”

“I mean, you’re still my brother after I say this.”

“… Because I’m not?” Now Jon sounds almost hurt, and Robb can believe why. He grasps tighter at his hands.

“Not technically. Your mother was Lyanna Stark, not Ashara Dayne or whoever else people thought, and it’s a very good thing you took after her or Father would have had a way harder time explaining why _his_ supposed bastard son might have had traits in common with Rhaegar Targaryen.”

Jon’s eyes go so _wide_ it would almost be comical, if Robb hadn’t wanted to cry.

“You’re japing,” he says all of a sudden. Robb holds his hands tighter and doesn’t let him move away.

“Jon, believe me, I spent half of my life itching to tell you and I couldn’t because Father was adamant about keeping it hidden. I spent one entire week not sleeping over that time when you didn’t burn your hand in the kitchens.”

“He didn’t what?”

Robb turns towards his mother, still not letting Jon move. “We went to the kitchens one night for – stupid reasons. It doesn’t matter. He ended up falling down from a chair and he broke the fall putting his hand right inside a fireplace full of still burning embers and his skin was barely red after. Not a scratch at all.”

“You said it probably looked worse to you than it really was like!” Jon says, sounding outraged.

“Then it was a good thing you didn’t notice how I was about to faint,” Robb retorts before looking back at him again. “I tried to talk about it to Father after, but – he said no. And honestly, Jon, do you think that when I asked you to stay I was doing that to try and hinder you from taking your choice?”

“Wait a moment – wait, Father said he’d tell me about my mother the next time we saw each other, but if I had gone to the Wall –”

“You’d have taken the black already, yes.” Robb wishes his voice didn’t sound this weary. “I did try to talk to him about it. He said that if you had taken the black then nothing could have happened to you regardless of whether the king found out or not. Which I suppose is true, but I couldn’t – I just couldn’t let you go without you having the full picture. Maybe you would have gone anyway, and if that’s what you really still want then I won’t stop you from leaving should you choose to, but I thought it wasn’t fair to you. That said – I wasn’t lying when I told you why I wanted you to stay. It was for that, too, but – I just couldn’t let you leave like that.”

Jon’s face has gone even paler than usual – it looks like he’s about to faint, for that matter. “I just – but why wouldn’t he – _why wouldn’t he_ –”

“Jon, Tywin Lannister gave the king the bodies of Rhaegar Targaryen’s children laid out as a gift and he married his daughter, I can imagine why he kept it such a secret. Well, Howland Reed also knows because he was at the Tower of Joy, but let’s be real, if anyone had suspected that you weren’t his – I kept that secret half of the time he did and I don’t envy him. I think he was too – too careful about it lately maybe, and I think he should have told you even if he meant well, but the reasons why? I can imagine all of them even too well.”

Jon nods, his face still pale as a sheet.

Robb risks a look to his mother – she looks stricken, though he doesn’t know for what. He’ll talk to her later, hoping that she also understands why he never told her either. He can imagine that she isn’t taking the fact that it was kept from her all this time too well, and he wouldn’t have in her place, but he needs to make sure Jon doesn’t, well, faint on him already.

Then Theon grabs a chair and moves to sit next to her even if he doesn’t look too sure of what he’s supposed to do – Robb sends him a grateful look and looks back at Jon again.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell before,” Robb sighs. “I just – Father was always _so_ adamant on just not – not doing it, and – anyway. I think he was wrong about that. But – you see why I cannot let people crown me when if there’s a person in Westeros who should be wearing one it’s –”

“Don’t,” Jon interrupts. “I’m not – I shouldn’t – I mean, Robb, really? Even if I am it doesn’t turn me into – into a king or whatever it is that you think it should, and who would even take such a claim seriously? Never mind that if I don’t recall wrong it’s not as if Rhaegar Targaryen had any other legitimized children, did he?” 

Robb doesn’t wince openly just because he’s too tired for that and because he’s known for ages how Jon feels about that specific issue.

“This is the last thing I’m going to say and then I’m leaving you alone to think about it if you want to, or – to whatever you wish. Regardless of _legitimacy_ , you do have a right to that throne. If you don’t want anything to do with it, I am going to respect your wishes and never discuss it again. If you want to go the Wall it’s your choice, if you want to stay here the way you have until now it’s your choice. But just know that regardless of who your parents really were, he never considered you anything other than _his_ and you’re my brother, not my – my cousin,” he says with some distaste. “I’ve known for years, it changed nothing. Never mind that if they really want to give me a crown so much I guess your legitimacy wouldn’t be an issue anymore, but –”

“What did you just say?”

“I’ve said exactly what you think I’ve said. Jon, really, I know it’s a lot to take in, I understand if you need to be alone.”

“No, I don’t think that –” Jon starts, glancing at the tent’s entrance, and then Theon, in what Robb decides is one of his moments of _perfectly_ assessing a situation that most people would think rare when they usually just don’t give him credit, stands up and offers Catelyn his arm.

“My lady, I think they need to be on their own and we both could make sure no one else is listening. If you’re amenable.”

“No, you’re right,” she agrees, taking it. “I – we will talk about this later,” she says.

“Of course,” Robb agrees at once, and watches them leave.

“Gods, that was more strange than what you’ve just told me,” Jon mutters, and Robb can’t help the relieved laugh leaving his mouth.

“Don’t you tell me,” Robb agrees. “Gods, I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you before, I am, I swear I wanted to –”

“I can hear that,” Jon sighs, his fingers threading with Robb’s, looking down at their joined hands. “Gods, you spent seven years just – not breathing a word of it? How did you manage?”

“I don’t know that, to be truthful,” Robb agrees. “Every time it was obviously you were suffering for being less than us as far as people cared I had to fight the impulse, but – really, whatever you do with this? It doesn’t change a thing. All right? It doesn’t.”

“But –”

“Jon. We _grew up together_. I don’t care if you were my aunt’s or my father’s. If that’s what you would want and if the people outside really think crowning me is a good idea and I somehow can’t find a way to refuse, I’d be more than happy to legitimize you without telling them you’re anything but my father’s son. It’s the thing that matters less here.”

“Why would you refuse that?” Jon asks, and for a moment Robb wonders why he’d pick on that part of the sentence.

“Why _wouldn’t_ I?”

“Why – Robb, have you even – you were born for that, it’s not as if you didn’t receive a worthy education –”

“The same as you did.”

“No one brought me up to be Lord of Winterfell!”

Robb shrugs. “It’s mostly etiquette. And I can assure you I’d rather run things as a lord, not dealing with that. I don’t even know where should I begin to handle a _kingdom_ – Winterfell is one thing, the North is another. And I should be leading a war on my own? With no one else supporting me, and Stannis definitely _won’t_ if we all decide to secede. I will do it if they really want me to, but I doubt I’d enjoy that.”

“You might be too grim.”

“ _Me_? Out of the two of us?”

Jon glares at him, but it’s all familiar territory and Robb wants to weep in happiness for that. “I mean, you’d have people helping you, I guess. And it’s just – why wouldn’t you want to? You’d have a chance to set things right, and it’s just – I mean, I couldn’t begin to imagine you ruling over a kingdom because we’ve seen each other grow up, but you’re suited for it. You’d do a good job of it – certainly you’d be better than Joffrey Baratheon, gods.”

“It’s not much of a compliment,” Robb snorts, “but thanks for that. Still, I don’t know if I want to be on my own doing that. I can’t – I mean, I could, but what do I know other than the stories we used to read back in the day? Still, if they want me to that badly, I doubt I can say no lest they all withdraw support.”

Jon sends him a look that pretty much openly says _people would do anything to be in your position and you’re being so pessimistic about it_ , though, and Robb can understand him, he does, because after all hasn’t Jon longed all his life to prove that he was more than _Jon Snow_ , to prove people he could also be as noble as their lord father –

And that’s when he thinks, _but why not_.

He doesn’t know if that’s because he has barely slept and he’s tired and anything looks better than being in this on his own, but –

“But what if it was _the both of us_?”

Jon’s eyes couldn’t be wider if they tried, and he’s shaking his head already.

“Robb, I think you’re _not_ fine. What did you just even say? You can’t be serious.”

Anyone would assume that, but thing is, he is. He is because now he can see a plan just fold open in front of him and gods but wouldn’t that be amazing.

“Oh, I am,” Robb replies. “I am.”

“No one has ever heard of such a thing! And how would you even pull it off? Never mind that they want you to be _King in the North_ , not –”

“Just listen to me a moment, all right? So let’s say that I go out and accept that title, but I tell them that I’m only doing that because the person who should have inherited the throne had Rhaegar Targaryen survived the rebellion has nothing to object to it. At which people obviously ask me where can they find the Targaryen who’d legitimize such a thing and we say that he’s right _here_.”

“Robb –”

“I’m not done. And I’m going to tell them that I’m more than glad to be their king, but I want you with me to do it because if you’re the would-be heir then you should have a say. Considering that you’re half Stark anyway they won’t object to that now, will they.”

“Robb, it’s still bloody insane. No one would –”

“We obviously would prove it, though I’m sure that if you put your hand over a burning fire they’d have that proof if that hasn’t changed between now and – and that time. But that’s not my main point. My main point is – Tywin Lannister is a powerful and rich man, no one would deny that, but I’m going to ask you _the_ question. Do you think that the rebellion killed all the Targaryen loyalists in this realm?”

Robb is very relieved when Jon doesn’t immediately answer and seems to be considering it. “Well, probably not. I mean, I doubt that. But even so –”

“ _Even so_ , what do we know of Stannis Baratheon other than that he’s stubborn enough that he’d have rather eaten corpses than surrender Storm’s End? I mean, what did Father always use to say about him?”

“That – that he was just to a fault and cared about his duty first and foremost, I think? I still don’t see how this all works together, are you sure –”

“Father also said that Stannis really had a dilemma when having to choose in between _betraying his king_ or following his brother. Then supporting his brother won out, as I suppose it was bound to be, but let’s say that the moment every Targaryen loyalist in Westeros finds out that one still exists, they flock to our side. Do you think he would go on his quest for a throne that he might not even want for himself, or would he want to _talk_ first? Sure, he wouldn’t talk to me as someone who wants to secede and take away a part of his kingdom. But would he talk to me as _the person who’s allied with the only Targaryen descendent in all of Westeros_? And with whom most Targaryen supporters would be siding with?”

“All right. I can see that. So he wants to talk. Very well. How do we even deal with it? Because if you don’t want to be in charge and I would be a joke –”

“ _First_ , we make sure he allies with us, which means that we get a united front against the Lannisters. _Then_ , after they’re defeated, we deal with him.”

“We deal.”

“Well, I don’t think I want that throne. Do you?”

“Are you _mad_? Of course I don’t, I couldn’t even begin –”

“Me neither, but _they_ don’t have to know, do they? We break a deal where he sits on it with your gracious blessing and then we go back home – if he’s amenable and everyone is that convinced of it I guess I can deal with the North being separate, but the situation would be plenty more manageable, wouldn’t it? If not even better, we’d do what we were actually trained for, but at the same time he’d sit on the Iron Throne because _we_ allowed that. And then – we can just, we can all go back and I’m not saying things would be what they were, but – but we’d have our sisters back, and we could just – go home.”

“Robb –”

“ _You_ included. Whichever surname you decide to keep,” Robb adds, softly. “And listen, I know that this is a lot to take in and I wouldn’t ask you to decide in the next five minutes, so how about we both sleep on that? I do have a day’s reprieve, after all.”

Jon stares at him for a long moment, and then –

“All right. All right, of course. I will think about it. I just –” He moves to stand, but Robb doesn’t quite let his hands go.

“I didn’t say you had to leave if you don’t want to.”

“Robb, people will talk if –”

“Jon, does it look to you like I could care less?”

“… No,” Jon replies, something in his eyes going so very soft, “I guess it doesn’t.”

Robb lets him go so they can get out of their furs – at least his tent has a somewhat decent bed. He moves inside it and lets Jon climb in on the other side. When both Ghost and Grey Wind climb at its foot he doesn’t even attempt to kick them away.

“We hadn’t done this in years,” Robb says a moment later, unable to keep a small grin from showing up on his face.

“Well, maybe if you missed it you shouldn’t tell your bannermen lest they stop taking you seriously,” Jon says, but the grin on his face is matching Robb’s and when Robb goes to sleep not long later it’s with a lighter heart than he can remember feeling in a long, long time.

\--

He wakes up and Jon’s already up – he’s dressed already and washing his face, looking as if he hasn’t slept a wink.

Did he, for that matter?

“I thought about it,” he says when he realizes that Robb is awake.

“And what did you decide?” Robb says, sitting up and getting out of the bed – he wishes he could delay the moment, but he has done that too much already.

Jon takes a deep breath before looking at him. “Tell me the truth. How likely is it that your plan could work?”

Robb tries to not get too excited at the obvious fact that Jon is considering it. He washes his face as well and then tries to answer as best as he can.

“I can’t tell you for sure,” he finally settles on, “but I think it’s likely enough that it’s worth to try it. I can’t imagine any other way that might unify most fronts.”

And that’s the truth – every other option he can think of ends in people fighting on separate sides and that is not going to be what defeats Tywin Lannister.

Jon nods, taking that in. “A part of me is saying that I should just either run back to Winterfell or take the black for real,” he admits, and Robb can’t avoid feeling like the earth has opened under his feet at that, somewhat, but he couldn’t begrudge Jon that if he chose to just leave this mess behind. “But,” Jon adds a moment later, “another is telling me that it’d be craven.”

“It wouldn’t,” Robb assures him. “I just told you everything yesterday and I’m asking you to take that kind of decisions _now_ , no one would be craven if they didn’t want anything to do with it. Look at how I ditched my own coronation yesterday.”

Jon laughs and shakes his head. “It’s not just that. Even if it weren’t – that same part is also reminding me that what you just proposed is… kind of what I always dreamed of, you know?” His voice is barely audible at this point, and Robb can’t avoid moving forward and grasping at Jon’s shoulder.

“You know that –”

“I do,” Jon says, “but that’s not the point.”

Robb says nothing, waiting for more.

“Yes,” Jon says abruptly he doesn’t know how long later – the silence might not have stretched for that long, but it felt like an eternity to Robb.

“Wait, you mean –”

“Yes, let’s do it.” Jon sounds a bit out of breath at that, but Robb can’t help keeping in the grin fighting its way to spread across his face.

“Are you sure? Because –”

“I’m sure. I mean, I’m bloody terrified, but – I was thinking – I was thinking of how I would have taken it if I had known _after_ taking the black,” he keeps on. “And the more I thought about it the more I just know I’d have understood it but I’d have… felt cheated, if it makes any sense. Which I suppose means I really don’t want to go there, after all. And if I don’t, I’d be lying to myself if I said that I don’t want to see this through either.”

Robb can’t remember the last time he felt this giddy, to be quite honest, and – he doesn’t even try to stop himself from showing it. He goes and grabs at Jon’s forearms, nodding.

“I’m bloody terrified too, but I think it’s just gotten a lot better right now. Fine. Fine, I’d say I call the war council and I go find my mother and if you just want to take a moment –”

“No, I’m coming with you. If you leave me here _taking a moment_ I might faint,” Jon mutters, not that Robb can’t understand him.

He still can’t help it – he hasn’t felt this good about anything in a very long time and he just – he just can’t wait to finally tell everyone the way he’s been more or less itching to for a very long time.

He smiles all over again. Maybe it’s adrenaline, maybe it’s that he doesn’t want to see the inevitable flaws in his plan –

But right now he can’t care less.

\--

Jon does go with him, and Robb heads straight for his mother’s tent – he doesn’t know if there’s anyone else he should inform first, but he’ll think about that later. One step at a time.

He doesn’t bother announcing himself before he moves the flap, though, and that’s how he finds himself more or less speechless – good thing that Jon puts that into words for him.

“Are you sure this is, you know… happening?” He whispers as they stand just outside and look at his mother and Theon silently eating some porridge and sharing a pitcher full of water. They also both look like they haven’t slept a wink tonight.

“No,” Robb replies truthfully, and lets the flap fall closed before he actually does announce himself.

His mother tells him to come in. They do.

“Should I ask if you have caught any sleep?” Robb asks sort of helplessly as he faces the scene again.

“No,” Theon cuts him, “and that’s about everything you will ever know about last night.”

“I would have never thought I’d say it,” his mother adds, “but he’s entirely right.”

Then she takes a deep breath and stands up – yes, she hasn’t slept. Robb notices the few empty wine flasks on the ground. He chooses to not press the matter further.

“I imagine you two might have something to tell me,” she says.

“We do,” Robb answers, and explains his plan.

To her credit, his mother takes it in without her expression ever changing and says nothing when he’s done.

Theon does, though.

“Are you sure _he_ is the one with Targaryen ancestry?”

“ _What_?”

“Just asking. Because if that plan works out, then you will go down in history as a way better tactician than Aegon the Conqueror could ever be, but if it doesn’t _you_ are going to be the legitimate mad king, not Aerys Targaryen.”

Jon doesn’t keep in a small snort and Robb wishes he could find it equally funny. “That was hilarious, thank you. But I would like to assume it will work. I figured you should be informed first, though.”

“I understand,” his mother finally says. “And I – I cannot believe I’m agreeing with _him_ thrice in a row, but he’s right. I really do hope you pull it off, and it’s not – not a bad plan, I suppose.” Robb can see that it’s not all that she wants to tell them, but says nothing. “However – I think you are missing something.”

“As in?”

“They will need proof. Your word won’t be enough – it’s not _Ned_ ’s. And even if – if I say that he had told me, too, it still won’t be enough. If Howland Reed was here they would take his and it wouldn’t be an issue, but you cannot summon him here now. You don’t have time. You should, by all means, but you can’t afford to wait until he comes.”

_That_ is a problem, Robb figures. “Well,” he starts, trying to work something out, “we might –”

“It won’t be a problem,” Jon interrupts him.

“How?” Theon asks.

Jon shrugs. “ _This_ should work.”

He walks up next to the fire that was lighted on in the corner of the room and –

And _he puts his hand right in between the flames_.

“Snow, _what the bloody hell_ –” Theon starts, reaching him and dragging his arm out of the fireplace.

And then he blanches – Jon’s hand is just barely red and he doesn’t look affected at all.

“What the –”

“I tried it this morning,” Jon sighs. “I kept it in between the flames for – for quite a bit. It was slightly burned when I took it away, but by the time Robb woke up it was as if I had never done that. I imagine doing that in front of everyone else might solve any doubt they have.”

Theon’s face is as pale as a sheet – Robb’s mother’s isn’t that different.

“I guess I’ll bring a torch out,” he finally says, after a long pause. “When are you telling them?”

“Well, I told the guards to get everyone ready for the council, so – as soon as we can, I guess.”

“Fine, then –”

“Wait,” Catelyn says. “Robb, do you mind if I have words with him in private?” She nods towards Jon, who obviously wasn’t expecting _that_. 

“I – I don’t,” he answers truthfully. “Jon, is it all right if –?”

“No, of – of course it’s fine. We’ll find you outside then?”

“Very well. Theon, get that torch and let’s leave.”

Theon grabs one and follows Robb outside without a word, still looking pale as a sheet. Grey Wind goes with them. Ghost stays behind.

He looks about to ask Robb something, which would be entirely fine, but before then –

“Listen, not to pry, but did you and my mother – I mean, what did you do last night?”

Theon doesn’t look at him – rather at the torch in his hands – as he answers.

“The moment we were out I said that after what I just heard I needed a drink or ten. She happened to agree.”

“Wait, so you really spent the night –”

“ _Drinking_ , and that’s all I’m saying about it before she murders me.”

Robb figures that prying is not a good idea right now.

“So, are you really convinced it might work?” Theon asks then.

“Surely better than just _me_ seceding,” Robb says. “Not that I think it’s a good idea, but I can’t tell them no directly now, can I?”

“You’re completely mad,” Theon sighs, “but I really hope for you that this works out. Gods, a _Targaryen_. Now I’ve really seen that all.”

They wait in silence for another short while, and then finally both Jon and his mother leave the tent, Ghost trailing after Jon. She doesn’t look much different than she had when they walked in, but Jon looks – somewhat relieved?

Robb figures he might ask later. Or he might not ask at all, it’s not as if he has to know what just went down.

“So, shall we?” He says when the four of them are all standing next to each other.

Everyone else gives him a curt nod and Robb heads for the biggest space in the middle of their camp where his bannermen are already seated.

Gods, he needs to handle this carefully.

“My lords,” he starts when he’s sure that all of them are there and listening, “I – I am sorry for yesterday, but I needed some time to myself.”

Maege Mormont says that he had the right of it and then the Greatjon stands again, but Robb clears his throat before he can speak.

“My lord. I think I know what you are about to propose me, and – fact is, I would be more than honored to accept. But there are circumstances that require… explanations, before you go through with it.”

“Which circumstances?” The Greatjon asks.

Robb takes a deep breath.

“See, my lords, you had the right of it yesterday. The kings in the North bended the knee to a Targaryen, indeed, and – that’s why I can’t accept a crown until I know that a _Targaryen_ heir to the throne agrees with it.”

“Lord Stark,” Roose Bolton says, looking fairly baffled, “there are no Targaryens in Westeros. Or in Essos for that matter, given that Aerys’s children might not have survived.”

“That’s what I meant with _circumstances requiring an explanation_. There is one,” Robb says, painfully aware of the silence that has just fallen in between their group. You could hear a pin drop, probably, and they’re on the outside.

“There is? Where?” The Greatjon asks.

“In this camp,” Robb confirms. “It’s – it’s something that only my lord father and Howland Reed knew, before he told me years ago.”

“In this camp? _Who_?” Lord Glover sounds as baffled as Roose Bolton had before. “And why would Ned Stark hide such a thing for this long?”

“Because he would have been accused of high treason, had he uncovered the truth. After all, he was – hiding him in plain sight.”

Robb can see the moment at least Maege Mormont, the Smalljon and Patrek Mallister understand where he’s aiming at.

“My lord –” Maege starts.

Robb raises a hand.

“See,” he says, “what he told me years ago, was that – he never had a bastard son. His sister, however, did.”

No one says a word but Robb can see understanding dawning on their faces.

“My lady mother can confirm you that she also knew,” he says, and gods but he’s endlessly thankful when she takes a step forward.

“He told me just before he left for King’s Landing,” she says with her head held high – no one would know that she’s lying.

“My lord,” Bolton starts again, “are you saying that –”

“I’m saying that Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark’s son is standing right next to me and I couldn’t in all honesty accept a crown without his agreement. Jon, would you mind stepping forward?”

Jon does, swallowing openly, and it’s obvious that he’s terrified, but he’s holding his head up high and that’s what matters.

“Lord Stark.” Gods, can’t Roose Bolton just let him finish? “You will understand that such a claim would require proof? Because –”

Jon shakes his head, stalks forward, heading straight for the fire in the middle of their circle. And before anyone can stop him, he just – goes and plunges both arms right in the middle of the flames.

At _that_ , the crowd stops being silent, but the first scream of _what is he doing_ dies when people notice that Jon isn’t letting out a single noise.

“It’s impossible,” Bolton whispers as Jon keeps on keeping his hands right there without even breaking a sweat.

“Well, I’m _seeing_ it,” the Greatjon mutters to himself, but everyone just – keeps on staring in horrified surprise as Jon just _stays there_. When he moves away, it’s after way too long.

Then he shrugs and turns his palms upwards. You can see burn marks, but it’s nothing that would scar badly – a regular person would have probably lost both hands had they done such a thing.

“Gods,” Lady Mormont murmurs. “Fire can’t kill a dragon,” she says, and Jon winces openly, but he still keeps his head held high.

“I suppose you all have seen this,” Robb says, trying to keep his voice as calm as possible.

“Indeed,” Lord Karstark says. “And now I am very curious to hear what is your proposal here, Lord Stark. Because given that we have _Rhaegar Targaryen_ ’s heir in between us, or so it seems –” 

“My proposal is that – if we secede, we shall, but with _his_ blessing. Because one thing is fighting this war on our own. One thing would be fighting with allies who might still support the Targaryens. And Stannis Baratheon certainly didn’t choose his sides lightly, during the Rebellion.”

“That would be tempting,” Bolton agrees. “But what grants us that he might go along with it? Because I wouldn’t want to be disrespectful, but how should we know that he’s trustworthy or that he wouldn’t try to turn this to his own advantage, so to speak?”

Robb kind of wants to reply _and what would you know_ , but then Jon clears his throat and takes a step forward.

“My lords,” he says, “you have the right if you have doubts about me because of my name or because I might be… inexperienced, or because I wasn’t brought up to be a lord, much less a heir to – whichever throne. I hadn’t know myself until recently, when my father left for King’s Landing.”

Robb tries not to let his surprise show – well, you wouldn’t have known it was a lie, if you hadn’t been aware of it.

“I am not – a lord, or a future king, for that matter. I know it’s assumed that – that bastard sons would want to steal their siblings’ rightful inheritance. I – before I was told, I was about to set off to the Wall. I didn’t go because I wanted to think about it, and right now I want to do my part to avenge Lord Stark and I couldn’t do that from there, but I did think about still doing it in these last few months. I never wanted anything that should belong to my – siblings first, though I suppose it’s not exactly how it is. His plan has a lot of merit. And if my – my presence can help in any way whatsoever, then I will be glad to. You can choose not to trust me, of course, and it would be well within your rights, but I am not here to usurp anyone’s place and I only want to do my duty. Thank you. My lords.”

He takes a step back, and Robb kind of wants to put an arm around him because it’s obvious that Jon isn’t visibly shaking just out of self-control, which he’s kind of envying him. He doesn’t know if he’d have as much, in that same position.

“I’ll be damned,” Lady Mormont says a beat later. “As far as I’m concerned, he could as well have been Ned Stark’s. And that plan’s mad enough that it just might work. I think it has merit. And can you imagine what would Tywin or Cersei Lannister think if he’s the biggest threat to their precious Joffrey?”

“Now that would be interesting to see.” That was the Smalljon. His father shrugs before looking back at them and finally – smirking?

“Maybe it’s a worthwhile idea,” he says, which means that all of his relatives are suddenly murmuring in agreement. Actually, that’s what starts it – suddenly, everyone except Roose Bolton seems very much in favor of the plan or at least not against it. Robb can literally feel both Ghost and Grey Wind humming in excitement at their feet, and he thinks, _we must certainly make a more convincing picture than we assumed_ – after all, if Bolton’s the only person not obviously convinced he won’t be the one the others will listen to.

When the Smalljon comes over to him and says that they all need to discuss it for a moment Robb tells them to please take their time – the entirety of his council disappears into Robb’s tent and they’re left with – soldiers staring in wonder at Jon, their direwolves standing up and flanking them and Robb’s heartbeat having sped up to a degree he’s not sure he likes. He feels like his heart might burst out of his ribcage every other moment.

He doesn’t know how long they stay inside.

But at some point they do come out of the tent, and – Roose Bolton looks livid, but all the Umbers are openly smirking along with Lady Mormont and her daughter and most others are… looking cautiously hopeful.

“My lord,” the Greatjon says, “not everyone was in full agreement, but most of us do think that your plans have the merit great plans have. And I think we’re all in agreement that we wouldn’t bend our knee to underachievers, if you understand our meaning.”

“Does this mean –”

“We have no reason not to believe in your honorable word. Nor your father’s, since if we believe you, we also have to believe it came from him. But given what we’ve seen, it would be hard to assume otherwise. If your brother has nothing against it, we would bend the knee.”  
Now Robb feels like he might faint.

“I – you have my blessing,” Jon says, his cheeks going completely red – Robb can feel him literally shaking next to him.

“Then, this is the only king I would bend my knee to. The king in the North!” the Greatjon says, and gods but everyone else chimes in as they all drop to their knees one by one.

Robb thinks his head is about to spin – every person around him chanting _king in the North_ isn’t doing anything to help the feeling of dizziness that’s washing all over him, but it’s fine. He can just smile and deal with it, and then he reaches out and grabs Jon’s hand – Jon grabs it back and holds it tight enough to hurt.

“Don’t faint on me now,” he murmurs, moving closer. “Actually, let’s try to not faint. The both of us.”

“I hope not,” Jon answers, even if he does sound like he’s about to.

“See why I wanted to have some support here?”

Jon gives him a nod, and Robb figures they should really start talking strategy now, but before then –

“Just one thing,” he says, “if I’m a king now – you do know that whichever surname you might wish for, I’d be glad to legitimize it. Think about it.”

Jon gives him another nod. Robb is sure he’s never seen him look so overcome in his entire life, not that it’s necessarily a bad thing. He supposes. 

“All right,” he says, “but for now I think I’m keeping mine. I’ll let you know.”

Robb gives him a small smile and then raises their joined hands so that people can see them, and hopes that their father isn’t disapproving of this, wherever he is right now.

 

_Epilogue_

“Don’t you find all this somewhat poetic?”

“ _What_ exactly?”

Theon snorts and wraps his black cloak tighter around his shoulders. All of them are wearing black these days, for practicality.

“You put all of that effort into convincing your brother to not join the Night’s Watch and now not only we _all_ ended up on the blasted Wall anyway, but he’s ended up making himself a bunch of friends in between the new recruits, and it looks like everyone is sad they can’t elect him Lord Commander should Lord Mormont die. It seems very poetic to me.”

Robb laughs along with him – the thing is that he can’t even tell Theon to fuck off because that’s… fairly right. If someone had told him that _this_ would be where everyone who ever claimed a crown in Westeros would end up a couple of years ago he’d have found it ludicrous.

And instead –

“Theon, there’s a horde of legendary undead monsters possibly threatening everyone’s safety, where else should we even be?”

The thing is – the Wall is crawling with soldiers, from every corner of the realm, and Robb has noticed the look on Commander Mormont’s face whenever he looks at how lively his yard is. He said that he was despairing in ever getting enough men to fill up five garrisons never mind all of them.

Then again Jon will deny it to the end of his days but most of the merit that this happened is his – mostly, Robb’s plan _did_ in fact work. Now, they hadn’t expected that in between the Targaryen loyalists they had hoped to rally to their cause they’d find the entirety of Dorne, but in between them, Stannis being reasonable, Renly being reasonable and the fact that they dispatched the Lannisters fairly quickly after that – well, since _Jon_ was the one they were more or less rallying around, they did listen to him when he pointed out that getting endless ravens from the Watch couldn’t mean that they were joking about whatever menace they were referring to in the letters. So he went on his own saying he would check it out with his own eyes. Except that Stannis’s Hand went with him as well saying that it was a good idea and two people were better than one to assess the situation.

When, weeks later, they all received ravens saying that the worries were founded and the Wall needed a huge army as soon as possible – well, Robb didn’t even think about it. It’s not just that the Wall is in the North, it’s that he wasn’t going to not trust Jon about anything in the first place. Stannis followed saying that if Lord Davos confirmed it he had no reason to doubt it, the Martells followed for the obvious reasons and since both Jaime and Tyrion Lannister ended up taking the black after their family’s fairly quick defeat – Lord Tywin surely had not imagined that he would end up with a united front against him, did he? – now they’re all on the same side and Robb doesn’t even know if he should find it hilarious or not. He’ll settle for it, he thinks.

And so what if Jon’s made some friends among the recruits while he was up here on his own? That’s only too good as far as Robb is concerned, it’s not like Jon ever had that many acquaintances outside Winterfell back in the day.

“All right, fair point. But hey, if you don’t count the horrid weather and the undead bodies looming around, it could be worse.” Theon almost sounds cheerful, which is a damn miracle given that he’s been sour for the last few months – then again, his father did try to secede again, in a true example of ill-thought decision, without realizing that he was going to have more than just Robb’s army against him. And he _knew_ Theon might have lost his head for it – of course Robb refused at once and Jon agreed, bless him, but still, he seemed to have lost his taste for smiling that much.

“Why, do you want to take the black?”

“Are you insane? No more than _you_ want to. And didn’t you promise me at least a place in your guard? I’d be an idiot to trade that for all this fucking ice and chastity vows.”

“How poetic of you.” Robb looks down at the yard again – Jon’s down there with some of his aforementioned new friends and he’s obviously trying to show one of them some archery rudiments rather than sword rudiments as he did before. Gods, he looks fairly happy for that matter – maybe it wouldn’t have been that bad to let him come here, Robb figures, but still – still he’s not regretting that for a moment.

“I should talk to him a moment,” he sighs. “I’ll go get him.”

“Don’t bother, I’ll send him up to you. Snow! I don’t care about your precious heritage, you still can’t hold a bow worth a damn. How about you come up here and talk to your brother while I do that in your royal stead?”

“There’s no royal stead and fuck you very much, but fine, I’m coming,” Jon shouts back, and Robb has to hid a laugh against his cloak all over again while Theon walks down the stairs and Jon does the contrary. When he arrives next to Robb he’s a bit out of breath, but gods if he doesn’t look livelier than one would assume, given where they are.

“So, does His Grace want to talk to me?”

“Don’t call me like that, gods.”

“I do that just because you hate it.”

“How hilarious, Jon. Anyway, as much as I enjoy seeing you wanting to rile me up, I was just wondering – are you still of that same mind regarding that legitimization? Because now it wouldn’t be just _me_. I mean, you have seen – no one would bat an eyelid if I did it. Not even my mother, gods.”

Jon’s cheeks go slightly red under his beard – neither his mom nor Jon talk much about it but in the last year they did seem to reach at least an understanding. He’s not sure that he’s ever going to know the details but she doesn’t look at him in resentment anymore and that’s enough – Robb doesn’t think she’s ever going to look at Jon the way she looks at him and his siblings, but it’s still better than before.

“I – I know that.”

Robb doesn’t tell him that at this point he also might as well legitimize _himself_ considering that he’s a good part of the reason they were able to solve matters with minimal bloodshed and they’re all fighting as a unified front now. He wishes he could go back in time and tell Jon years ago that one day he’d be _this_ important to the entire realm, but that’s not the time for this kind of sentimentalism, he figures.

“I imagine you still haven’t chosen,” Robb says, not unkindly.

“No, but – there’s – something.”

“All right. What is it?”

Jon shrugs minutely. “I just – had time to think things through. And the problem is – I always thought that not sharing your name was what set me apart. Like somehow all my problems would be solved if it was Jon Stark. But – if you look at it, it’s not even the way it should be.”

“How?”

“Robb, that’d have made sense if – if my _father_ was a Stark. Wouldn’t it? If you look at it objectively, if I had to be legitimized, it would have to be –”

“Targaryen?” Robb says when Jon doesn’t say it out loud.

“Yes. And – the more I think about it the more absurd it seems, you know. Never mind that there’s no one on that side of the family who could legitimize me as one. But – that would just be ridiculous. I don’t know anything about them if not from history books, how am I supposed to take that name? I mean, it just sounds like – if the gods exist, they might be trying to tell me that being named Snow was destiny.”

“Jon –”

“But maybe I don’t hate it too much anymore.”

“Sorry?” That wasn’t what Robb was expecting.

“I mean – look at how your completely mad plan went. You were right, but at the same time – I didn’t need to be either Stark or Targaryen to do my part in it, did I?”

“You didn’t,” Robb agrees.

“And – then I guess – it didn’t really matter overall, did it?”

“It didn’t.”

“Then maybe it was just – me, I guess. If I could – if all that we accomplished could have happened while my name was still Snow then do I really need another one at this point? Besides –” He stops and his cheeks go slightly redder. Robb can’t help smirking and moving closer.

“Besides, _what_? Come on, I’m all ears.”

“While I was here – I mean, I did make some friends –”

“We noticed,” Robb says.

“Well, I’m not so sure it would have gone as well if my name wasn’t Snow. You know. The first couple of weeks I asked the Lord Commander to keep my identity secret – the few people who knew were just… very deferential and the likes. Then nothing changed after I told the truth but well, by then it wasn’t that important. I don’t know if I want people being _deferential_ because of my name, whichever it is.”

Jon is looking down at the yard as he says it, and Robb can’t help noticing that he blushes some more when he ends up looking at a spot of red hair moving in from the main gate. Right, that’s Ygritte, one of the wildlings that have now also taken residence here – Robb doesn’t know exactly who realized that it was better to try and treat with them in order to fight a common enemy and how Jon, Stannis and Lord Davos carried that out and tried to convince the rest of the Watch. He arrived later, since he had to take care of things in Winterfell (like making sure his siblings were safe, that Arya wouldn’t get the horrid notion of _following them at the Wall_ and that Sansa would be in charge along with Bran – he didn’t want to leave before knowing for sure they’d be fine). But it was a very sound idea and he certainly hadn’t complained.

For a moment Robb thinks that maybe they could have Arya come here after this whole storm has blown over – she’d love to take some lessons from most of the spearwives around the Wall. Anyway, Ygritte is heading for the makeshift archery practice area – she tells Theon he’s pretty good but maybe not as good as she is, and shouldn’t they have a contest. Robb snorts – he thinks he kind of wants to see that. But nevertheless, Jon was indeed blushing as he watched the scene and suddenly Robb thinks he knows that something else might be up here.

“And let me guess, important family names don’t matter to wildlings, or am I wrong?”

“ _What_?”

“Jon, I’m fairly sure that looking at _Theon_ showing off isn’t what would make you blush. And she certainly is _something_. Wait, have you already –”

“What? No, gods, I mean, she hasn’t been here for long and we might have fooled around, some, but it’s nothing, I mean –”

Robb can’t help it – looking how flustered Jon is getting over _that_ is frankly hilarious and gods but he hadn’t dared hoping he’d actually get to see him fretting over a girl in his entire life, not when Jon didn’t even look at anyone’s way in Winterfell and not after they ended up leading an army. And throughout all this time he’s felt like maybe such dumb things as fretting over beautiful girls was beyond their reach, so he’s fairly glad that at least for one of them it’s happening.

“Jon, calm down. There’s nothing wrong with that and I don’t see why you shouldn’t – fool around. If you get what I mean.”

Jon groans and fine – Robb has missed riling him up like that.

“Please tell me we aren’t ever discussing this again.”

“Sorry, I can’t make such a promise. Still, I think you earned some _fooling around_ all things considered.”

“Go tell that to your mom, who is sure that you should get married already.”

Fine, that was fair – Robb groans in return. “Fine, fine, I’m going to leave you alone. But – I just wanted to say – I wasn’t really ever supposed to – to know about your parents. Sometimes I wonder what’d have happened if I didn’t. I don’t know what Father’s plans were or would have been had it gone differently, but I’m glad it went like this. I really am.” He puts a hand over Jon’s nearest wrist, and at that Jon turns towards him and he looks like he’s about to cry, though not the bad kind of.

“You’re not the only one,” Jon says, and his voice breaks a little at that but he does turn his hand upwards to grasp Robb’s and –

Well, really, they might be in public but no one is paying that much attention to them and even if they were, he thinks they earned that. He turns and tugs Jon forward and it just feels right the moment Jon grasps it at his shoulders and doesn’t move away at once. Actually, he doesn’t move at all.

“By the way,” Robb says a moment later, “all things considered, you do look quite good in black. It’s definitely more your color than mine. Hopefully _Ygritte_ doesn’t disagree with me, does she?”

Jon snorts against his shoulder and moves back enough to look at him in the eyes for a moment. “I don’t think she does, but I wasn’t planning on wearing it indefinitely.”

“Good,” Robb says in relief, his forehead touching Jon’s, “that’s good. All things considered, I think you’d look better in grey.”

“Yeah, I – I think I might like that best, too,” Jon blurts out, and it was so low just Robb himself could have heard it, but it’s not as if it was meant for anyone else, was it?

Robb is sure he also likes that best, as well.

 

End.


End file.
